Wednesday, February 27, 2013
So I wrote you a letter wedged into my forearm
Plagued by my own perhaps self-afflicted emotional barricade, I feel like I have reached a point where there is no way of escaping having to put everything into words. A series of mishaps and misadventures in the recent weeks have taught me many things I secretly refuse to accept - all of it shrouded in a veil I pretend I am able to keep over it. But something's gotta give, man.
The past year has been nothing but one big life lesson to me. I mended, I broke, I mourned and I celebrated, all seemingly at the same time, and being on my own has given me more perspective of what my life truly means, to myself.. and to others. I have arrived at a crossroads with oncoming traffic from all directions, and my way of coping has obviously been to deny myself the chance to acknowledge it, by simply allowing myself to drown in the ever-seductive pool of my own emotional madness.
I am told, on a regular basis, that I am un-tamable. Whatever brings people to brand me with such a strong and rigid label, is quite possibly the career path and lifestyle I chose for myself, now that I am on my own, for the first time in years. Yes, I do have a wall up and around me, but nobody has any idea of the feelings that I am bombarded with every day, presumably "safely" hidden behind my walls. Maybe it is my determination, not to let heartbreak change me, or maybe it is just trickery that my mind plays on my fragile soul. I hide it well, the depth that not many people see, I hide it well under my smiles. And for the most part, it is how I choose to stay, not because I am afraid of showing weakness, but because I am prouder of my unwavering strength.
They say, do not judge a book by its cover. I say, do not judge a book at all. Because while you might think that you know what it is all about just by looking at its appearance, and someone else might think they know better judging it by its words, maybe the real truth is hidden, between the lines, in the fine print, in the absence of certain words, and perhaps can only be found in the root of the story.. Or not at all.
I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I am proud of it. I have no shame in admitting my struggles, and how I love, and how I hurt, and how I heal. It is all a part of who I ultimately will be remembered as, when that day arrives, when I am without my body, and only a faint hint of an aura that once was. And nothing, not even your sharp words, not even your stubborn judgement or your blatant ignorance, can ever convince me of being anything else but myself.
And if that only means that my struggle will never find an end to it, well then so be it. It's not like I'm not used to it..
Photo taken in Balesin